Dragon Slayer 2_A Pulp Fantasy Harem Adventure

by Michael-Scott Earle

  “Once the pain of the transformation has worn off, I will be fine,” she replied with a smile.

  “Is it really bad? The pain?” I asked as I released her hand and shouldered my pack. I knew how exhausting it was to use the magical energy, but I’d never considered what effects changing to and from a dragon would have on a human body.

  “It is…” Arieste hesitated, and her brows knit together in concentration. “There is the pain of my body stretching and changing between two shapes that have little in common. But once the change is complete, the discomfort fades quickly. I have grown accustomed to being in this form over the last weeks.”

  “Does it feel strange?” I persisted and looked at Irenya for an answer. “Being stuck in a human body after a lifetime as a dragon? Going from having wings, talons, and razor sharp teeth to fingers and toes?”

  “I find it limiting,” Irenya said, and her words had an edge. “My instincts are telling me to take to the skies, only to discover that my flesh is trapped on the ground.”

  “It takes some getting used to, I will admit,” Arieste said. “But once you truly discover all the wonders the human body has to offer, you will find the trade-off is often more than fair.” She gave me a small smile.

  “I’ll admit this soft flesh does have a certain appeal,” Irenya put in as she ran her hands over her curvaceous form. “All the same, I’ll be glad to return to my true form.”

  “So, you see your dragon body as your real body?” I asked the obvious question. “Not this one?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Irenya’s brow furrowed. “I have been in this flesh form for less than a day, while I lived as Riamod for five hundred years.”

  I glanced at Arieste. “Do you feel the same?”

  “Once,” Arieste said, hesitating. “Yet now, I am not certain.”

  Irenya shot her a withering stare, but the platinum-blonde ignored the glare.

  “On our return trip to Whitespire, I felt the parts of my mind that were Frosdar retreating. Something within me changed. No, perhaps changed is not the right word. Almost as if the woman I am now is who I truly am, and Frosdar is simply a distant memory. Even when I return to dragon form, I am Arieste. Frosdar is no more.”

  “Maybe you’ll feel like that too someday soon,” I told Irenya.

  “Maybe,” she said, but her expression showed only disdain.

  “You have a problem with being human?” I asked. “I’ve been human all my life, and it’s not all that bad.”

  “Humans are weak.” Irenya held up her delicate hands. “Look at these things, too fragile to shred meat from bones or tear my enemies to pieces.” She opened her mouth to reveal white teeth. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I have no wings to take to the sky, and no weapons to fight my enemies?”

  “You have magic,” I told her.

  “No, you have my magic,” she snapped.

  “Yes, but don’t you still have access to a fraction of your power?” I asked.

  After a moment, Irenya nodded.

  “That power is more than every other human on Iriador possesses,” I told her. “The magic required to produce even a tiny spark makes you more powerful than most of the humans you will meet. But part of having power is knowing how to use it right.”

  I didn’t think anyone here on Agreon would mind me paraphrasing “with great power comes great responsibility,” but I still smiled a bit at my own words.

  “Humans set up societies with rules and standards so we can exist in peace,” I said. “We can get along without worrying about enemies all around us because we have laws to follow. When I walk into the king’s palace in Whitespire, I don’t have to worry that someone’s going to steal my things or try to kill me because there are rules that protect me. The same laws now protect you in your human form.”

  “Pfft, rules,” the redhead said with a dismissive tone.

  “It’s part of our civilization,” I said. “You are now part of that.”

  Irenya’s expression grew thoughtful after my words, but she didn’t reply.

  “As dragons,” Arieste put in, “our primary concerns were survival, control of land, and the acquisition of treasure. We knew nothing else so that was what dominated our thoughts. But over the days I have spent as a human, I have learned there is a different way of doing things. A way of peace which is foreign to the life of battle and strife we once knew. I am still far from accustomed to it, but I can see its merit. Perhaps you might give it a try as well?”

  The two women locked gazes, and an unspoken war of wills raged between them. Irenya admitted she still had a lot of Riamod’s instincts and thoughts raging through her, and maybe Arieste wasn’t as free of Frosdar’s personality as she’d thought. The enmity between the white and red dragon still burned between the two.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a bit of a walk to reach Windwall.”

  I set off with Arieste and Irenya close behind me. The section of road where Arieste had chosen to land was surrounded by high cliff walls that hid her massive dragon form. The cliffs also hid the city of Windwall from view, so though I wasn’t exactly sure how far away we were, I knew we were close enough to reach the city before dark. After all, it was barely after noon now.

  The road was as wide as a four-lane Chicago highway, though with a paved stone surface rather than asphalt. Forty-foot cliffs of red sandstone bordered the road, and they blocked out all sound as well as obstructed a clear view of our surroundings. I’d gotten a good enough view from overhead to know that we were on the section of road that snaked back and forth up a hill toward the eastern gate of Windwall.

  We had the high road to ourselves for half an hour as we hiked up the gentle incline. Our first interaction with the citizens of Windwall came when an ox-drawn cart rumbled down the hill toward us. The farmer tipped his straw hat in a greeting but moved on without a word.

  It seemed surprising that he could be so calm, given what was happening at the base of the huge Windwall. He seemed in no hurry, unconcerned by the danger literally four or five miles away. Was the situation in Windwall really so dire as the message to King Obragar had indicated? Maybe the Council of Four kept the truth of the situation hidden from their people, not wanting to incite a panic.

  As we walked, I cast sidelong glances at both of my companions. Irenya tried her best to hide the venomous glares she shot at Arieste, but the blonde woman didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she didn’t care.

  “Is it true what you said earlier?” I asked, both to break the tense silence and because I was genuinely curious. “Was that really what it is like to be a dragon? Thinking only of battle, land, and treasure?”

  “What else is there?” Irenya asked, and a sparkle shone in her eye. “That is why we are here, isn’t it? To go to battle, capture land, and claim treasure?”

  “We are going to battle,” I admitted, “but not for ourselves. We are here to help the people of Windwall, so we can get their help for the people of Whitespire.”

  “Help.” Irenya spoke the word as if tasting an unfamiliar food. “I would never have imagined helping either Frosdar or Emroth.”

  “So, what, dragons don’t make friends?” I asked.

  “The very concept reeks of human weakness,” Irenya said, and I caught a hint of the fire that had burned in Riamod’s eyes. “Dragons live or die by their strength and magic.”

  “But what about Curym and Zaddrith?” I raised a questioning eyebrow. “They’re working together--”

  “An alliance of convenience,” Arieste said with a shake of her head. “Dragons can work together to achieve a common goal, such as the elimination of a rival.” She shot a pointed glance at Irenya. “But in the end, each dragon stands alone. They have one driving instinct: to protect their lands and guard their lairs. Building a hoard, summoning minions, raiding enemy lands, it is all secondary.”

  That was an interesting revelation. Dragons existed to protect their lands and guard their lairs, the
same lairs where their magical altar stood. Perhaps that instinct was an unconscious one to protect their connection to the magic which powered and created them.

  I didn’t miss how she spoke of dragons as ‘they’ while Irenya talked as ‘we’. Her time as Arieste had made her a lot more human. I just hoped Irenya adapted the same way over time. The people of Windwall and Whitespire were counting on us.

  “How long were you a dragon, Arieste?” I asked, even though I recalled that she had told me five hundred years already.

  “Five hundred years,” she replied without hesitation.

  “And you?” I asked Irenya.

  “Five hundred years,” the red-haired woman said.

  “You’re the same age.” I raised an eyebrow. “What are the odds of that?”

  “Why would that be strange?” Irenya asked.

  “It just is,” I told her. “People are born and die every day, so everyone is a different age. If you were both born five hundred years ago--”

  “Born?” Irenya asked with her brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Uhh, how do I put this?” I tried to find the right words. “When a human man and a human woman make more humans, the woman carries the child in her womb for nine months until it is born.” Never in my dreams had I pictured myself explaining conception and childbirth to two full-grown women.

  “Sounds messy,” Irenya said, and her nose wrinkled.

  “It is,” I said.

  “And unnecessary,” she continued, and gave a toss of her fiery red curls. “Dragons do not require any of that fuss. We are not born. Dragons simply… are.”

  Not much of an answer, but I suppose it made sense. Nyvea told me the dragons were creatures of magic. Perhaps they, like the fire goblins, Snow Killers, and ghoulins, were made by magic.

  I had a hundred more questions I wanted to ask, but at that moment, we rounded a bend in the corner and came in sight of the gates of Windwall. The gates stood about five hundred yards away at the end of a level stretch of highway, and we paused a moment so that we could take in the fortress.

  The eastern wall of Windwall was made of the same red sandstone as the surrounding cliffs, almost as if it had been carved from the side of the mountain like the rock city of Petra. Veins of strata ran in horizontal lines along the wall, like the lines of Mother Nature’s paintbrush. The stone walls themselves seemed to curve outward as if the craftsmen that built it hadn’t wanted to interfere with its natural beauty. Except for one large opening for the city gate, the wall stretched unbroken from north to south, connecting two cliff faces.

  Despite the fact that it was early afternoon, there was no traffic going in and out of the city. One of the two huge gates was open, and four guards in black scale mail stood at attention beside it. They made no move to draw their long, curved swords as we approached, but one held out a hand to stop us.

  “What business have you in Windwall?” he demanded. He was a tall man, with black hair that hung in a long ponytail halfway down his back, a thin goatee, and a waxed moustache. His angular face was a shade darker than the people of Whitespire, and his almond eyes were turned up at the outside. His features reminded me of Chen Gwan, a second-generation Chinese-American friend I’d had in middle school.

  “My name is Sir Ethan, and I’m here by order of King Obragar of Whitespire.” I drew out the scroll the king’s messenger gave me and showed it to the guard. “He has sent me to speak with your king and Council of Four.”

  The man took the scroll but didn’t break the wax seal holding it closed. Only the Council of Four had the authority to open the seal which bore the crest of King Obragar himself. After a moment of studying the scroll, he lifted his eyes to me.

  “No offense, but you don’t look like a knight,” he said. “Nice enough clothing, but no plate mail or weapons besides that.” He narrowed his eyes at my fireman’s axe.

  “Trust me,” I told him with a grin, “there are no knights on this world like me.”

  The black-armored guard gave me a deadpan look, and then his eyes went to the two women behind me.

  “And them?” he asked.

  “My companions,” I said. “Also from Whitespire.” I didn’t think the guard would much like hearing the truth of who the two women were.

  Once again, his eyes returned to the seal of the king’s letter, then flashed up to study me. If he thought the lack of horses and equipment odd, he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he nodded and stepped aside.

  “Welcome to Windwall, Sir Ethan,” he said and gestured for me to enter the city.

  “Thank you.” I took the letter he offered, tucked it back into my pack, and gave him a respectful nod.

  As I walked through the gates, I couldn’t help thinking back to my first day in Whitespire. Then, I’d been hungry, unsure of how I’d carry out Barodan’s mission, and carrying only my fireman’s clothes, turnout gear, and axe. Now, I entered the city as a knight, on a mission for King Obragar, and with two gorgeous women serving me. I’d come a long way in a short time.

  Beyond the wall, the city of Windwall spread out in neatly ordered streets that looked like they’d been cut from the mountainside. The houses were tall buildings that looked like adobe huts, but were made of the same red sandstone as the cliffs around them. All of the buildings rose more than three stories above street level, and the city reminded me of downtown Chicago, just with buildings of stone instead of a concrete jungle.

  To the south, the solid black stone of the wall from which the city derived its name rose forty feet above the street level, but it wasn’t just a simple wall. It was a huge building that stretched easily five hundred yards wide and a hundred and fifty yards long. No other construction in Windwall came close to matching its size.

  “I’m guessing the palace is off in that direction?” I asked Nyvea.

  “That is the palace,” she told me. “And the barracks for Windwall’s army.”

  It made sense. The greatest threat to the city would come over the southern wall, so of course, the army would want to be as close as possible.

  “We’re headed there,” I told Arieste and Irenya as I pointed to the huge black stone building. They nodded and followed me up the streets toward the south of the city.

  “Everything seems very orderly,” Arieste remarked as we walked. “They are a people that prioritize organization and cohesion.”

  “Boo-ring!” groaned Irenya. “Everything’s the same here. And how can they live together, packed so tight together like this? Give me freedom and wide-open spaces any day. If I lived here, I know I’d get sick of my roommate way too quickly.” She shot Arieste a smug smile.

  The platinum-blonde woman rolled her eyes. “Yes, it is clear that you prefer chaos to order. Perhaps a pig-sty would serve as your ideal home. You would fit right in with the messy hogs.”

  Fire flashed in Irenya’s eyes. “Better than your ice castle, you frosty--”

  “Hey, look at that!” I interjected before things turned into a full-on catfight. “That’s pretty cool, right?”

  A fifty-foot statue stood in the middle of the square. From our vantage point, it looked like two lovers embracing. But with every step we took farther up the street, the appearance of the statue shifted. By the time we’d reached the next block, the change of angle had made the statue look like a tall, proud warrior wielding a sword of black stone. That was one hell of an optical illusion and artistry that we couldn’t come close to matching back on Earth.

  “It’s like they don’t know colors exist!” Irenya sniffed.

  “I’m surprised you care about colors,” I said as I looked at the bright green dress she wore. Irenya’s tone and topic of conversation felt surprisingly human to me.

  “I like beautiful and exciting things,” she huffed as she gestured to the passing crowd. “Their clothes are none of these things. Yes, I know they are in a war, but perhaps they would feel better about their situation if they wore a happier choice of color.”

&
nbsp; “Hmmm, maybe,” I said as I smiled at the beautiful redhead.

  I didn’t know if she was right about them “feeling better about their situation,” but she was correct about the drab colors. The people of Windwall wore long, plainly cut shirts and cloth pants of dull browns, blacks, whites, and khaki, with long-sleeved robes to complete the ensemble. It reminded me of movies I’d watched of Ancient China, even down to the sandals and leg wraps. They wore no hats, but their long black hair hung in a single tight braid down their backs.

  People moved all around us in a steady flow of traffic, yet there was an unhurried pace to their movement. Indeed, it appeared that we were the most interesting people around. My close-cropped blonde hair caught the attention of the long-haired citizens of Windwall. Arieste’s platinum-blonde hair and Irenya’s fiery red locks had to be equally intriguing to them.

  I found their lack of fear strange. Didn’t they care that a horde of monsters assaulted the Windwall?

  No, I realized, it wasn’t that they didn’t care. They were just used to it.

  I remembered that Sir Galfred had told me the city of Windwall had fought Emroth’s minions for hundreds of years. Anyone would grow accustomed to a ceaseless war, especially one that persisted long after the soldiers fell in battle and the ordinary citizens died of old age. To the average citizen of Windwall, the danger in the canyon below was a constant part of their life. As long as their army held the wall, they had nothing to fear.

  I shuddered at the thought of a life filled with endless battle, fighting an enemy that could never be truly defeated. I couldn’t imagine living a life like that.

  I pushed the thought from my mind and returned my attention to the bustling traffic around me. Unlike the city of Whitespire, it seemed there were few horses here in Windwall. Most people got around on foot, or they were pulled around by on two-wheeled rickshaws. The carriages had steel-rimmed wooden wheels, with long handles that made it easy for the rickshaw runners to pull up and down the flat streets. The closer we drew to the palace, the more numerous the rickshaws became, but the traffic didn’t become more congested.